Hadrian Peverell: High Lord of Skagos

Chapter 37: The Forging of the Skagosian Fleet

Back on Skagos, the winds howled across the rocky shores as Hadrian stood in his solar, staring at the vast collection of tomes that he and his elves had painstakingly copied from libraries across Westeros. The room was dimly lit by candles, their flickering light casting long shadows across the rows of scrolls and books stacked high on every available surface. These volumes, filled with the accumulated knowledge of Westeros's greatest shipbuilders, traders, and navigators, represented more than just words and diagrams. They were the foundation upon which Hadrian intended to build the future of Skagos.

For the past two weeks, he had hardly left the confines of Norhall, his mind consumed by the task at hand. He spent long hours poring over the intricacies of shipbuilding, comparing the designs of ships from the North, the Vale, and the islands of Driftmark. The elves Nobby and Elphie—worked tirelessly at his side, sketching out the plans, revising every detail of the ships they now intended to craft. They shared a single goal: to create a fleet that could not only traverse the perilous seas surrounding Skagos but also serve as a symbol of the island's new power in the eyes of the world.

The first challenge, however, was clear. Simply copying any one of the designs would have been the easiest route, but also the most dangerous. Hadrian knew that Westeros was a land of suspicion and intrigue, and the moment Skagos launched a fleet that bore too close a resemblance to the ships of House Velaryon, Manderly, or Grafton or even Royce questions would be asked. Eyes would turn toward the isolated island in the Shivering Sea, and his plans might be uncovered before they even had a chance to take shape.

And so, the task was more complicated. He could not simply recreate the ships he had studied. Instead, he had to craft something new—a vessel that would be uniquely Skagosi, a blend of the old and the new, of tradition and innovation.

Late one night, as the fire crackled softly in the hearth and the chill of the northern winds seeped through the stone walls of Norhall, Hadrian called a meeting in the conference room. Kreacher, now known as Regulus Black to those outside his inner circle, stood at his side as they awaited the arrival of the others. The Skagosi shipwrights—hardy men who had spent their lives repairing the crude fishing boats of the island—filed in one by one, their faces set in grim determination. These were men who had never built anything grander than a skiff, yet Hadrian knew they held an understanding of the sea around Skagos, that no Westerosi shipwright could match.

Once they were seated, Hadrian spoke.

"We stand on the edge of something great," he began, his voice low but firm. "Skagos has lived in isolation for too long, content to remain forgotten by the world. But that time is over. We have the knowledge now, gathered from every corner of Westeros. What we do next will determine the future of this island and its people. We will build a fleet, not just to trade but to defend ourselves and assert our place in the wider world."

He gestured to the plans spread out on the table before them. The shipwrights leaned forward, their eyes scanning the detailed drawings that Nobby and Elphie had carefully transcribed. There were designs from the Vale, sleek and agile, made for swift maneuvers along the coast. The Manderly ships, built for long voyages across the open sea, with reinforced hulls and broad decks for carrying goods. And of course, the Velaryon galleys, crafted for speed and war, their oars cutting through the water like blades.

"We cannot use any one of these designs," Hadrian continued. "It would be too dangerous, too obvious. But we will take from them what we need. We will build something new—something that is ours."

The shipwrights nodded in agreement, their rough hands tracing the lines of the designs, discussing amongst themselves the different elements that could be combined. The conversation that followed was long and technical, filled with debates about hull shapes, sail rigging, and the durability of different types of wood. Kreacher listened quietly, his eyes darting between the men as he made notes in his ever-present ledger.

Hours passed as the discussion evolved. Hadrian had anticipated the complexity of the task, but even he was surprised by how much work still lay ahead. It was clear that no single design could serve all their needs. A trading ship required different specifications from a war galley, and the treacherous waters around Skagos demanded a sturdiness that none of the ships they had studied could fully provide.

By the time the meeting ended, they had agreed on a plan. The first priority would be the creation of a new type of trading vessel—one that could navigate the icy seas of the North, carry substantial cargo, and be easily maneuverable in the often turbulent waters of Skagos. For this, they would blend the best aspects of the Manderly carracks, the Grafton cogs, and the lighter Velaryon ships.

The warships, however, would have to wait. Hadrian knew that while they could begin work on a fleet of trading ships immediately, building war galleys would require more time and, more importantly, more knowledge. The designs from Westeros were a start, but to craft a fleet that could rival the naval powers of the Free Cities, he needed to learn from those very cities. Essos would be his next destination.

For now, though, the trading ships were the focus. Over the next several weeks, Hadrian and his advisors worked tirelessly, refining their plans. Nobby and Elphie were instrumental in translating Hadrian's vision into something tangible, sketching out the final blueprints that the shipwrights would follow. The design was a hybrid—sleek and fast like a Velaryon galley, with the durability of a Manderly carrack and the capacity of a Grafton cog. The ship would have two masts, with square sails for speed in open waters and a triangular lateen sail for maneuverability in close quarters. The hull would be reinforced with ironwood, one of the few trees that grew on Skagos, known for its strength and resistance to the harsh northern elements.

It was a design that no one had ever seen before—a ship uniquely suited to the needs of Skagos and its people.

As the plans neared completion, Hadrian called another meeting with the shipwrights. This time, the mood in the room was different. The initial uncertainty had been replaced with excitement, a sense of anticipation. The shipwrights were eager to begin work, their minds already racing with ideas about how to bring the design to life.

"We have everything we need now," Hadrian said, addressing the room. "The design is finalized, the resources are in place. It is time to build."

The men nodded, their faces set with determination. They knew the importance of the task before them, the significance of what they were about to create. This was more than just a ship—it was the future of Skagos.

Over the next several months, the shipyards of Skagos buzzed with activity. The sound of hammers striking wood echoed across the island as the shipwrights set to work, following the plans Hadrian and his team had created. It was hard, grueling labor, but the men worked with a sense of purpose they had never known before. For the first time in generations, Skagos was building something not just for survival, but for prosperity.